


The Viper and The Dragon

by WanderingFishie



Series: Viper Chronicles: Skyrim [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 05:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16486586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingFishie/pseuds/WanderingFishie
Summary: Shouldn't have worn the damn cloak.





	The Viper and The Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Hai peeps! This is my first fanfic posted online. I hope you guys like it!

A land known for breeding the hardiest of people, man or mer, Skyrim seems to have become a more dangerous place to live in. Besides the harsh cold in the north, it is also home to a plethora of hostile flora and fauna.

Following the recent outbreak of the Civil War between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, marauding bandits have gotten more confident in infesting the countryside, and in the Reach, there had been increasing reports on the deranged and fanatical Forsworn attacking settlements. Even vampires, formerly reclusive, were now a menace.

On a particularly cloudy day, following the complete destruction of Helgen, a former foe of old had returned: dragons. Massive rulers of the sky, they are now more commonly seen as the bigger menace to deal with, political squabbles aside.

With the return of the dragons, many adventurers and mercenaries saw chances for glory, gold, and a place in history. Unfortunately, given the presence of Alduin, any dragon these brave souls manage to kill will only rise again.

Nonetheless, as if to counter this, destiny had unveiled a mortal imbued with the soul of a dragon, capable of a powerful magic of old: the Dragonborn.

* * *

 

“More ale, lizard!”

A recent sighting of a dragon roaming the skies around the mountains southwest of Riften had lead to Jarl Laila Lawgiver to put a bounty for its death. Mercenaries and adventurers came and went but none of them returned. That was until Bjorn and his group of mercenaries did. Hanging around Bjorn’s neck was one of the dragon’s eyes, a trophy he took from the slain dragon.

After having collected the bounty and receiving praises worthy of heroes, Bjorn and his men had settled for the night in the Bee and Barb, Riften’s only inn. Haelga, the proprietor of the Bunkhouse nearby, had offered Bjorn a night in her arms, but much to her chagrin, the burly Nord declined. One lass had already captured his eye, and that was Mjoll the Lioness, Riften’s self-declared protector. She’d already turned down his prior advances while leading his group to where the dragon was. But, no lass had ever turned him down without regrets. He had to have her, whether she wanted to or not. But first, he had to get rid of her Imperial companion.

He grunted. It was already enough that he had problems with her, but the Argonians slithering around the place were grating on his nerves. Like any Nord, he hated these milk-drinkers hailing from distant lands. Skyrim is for the Nords, after all. How the Jarl could keep these foreigners here is insulting.

“Are there any Nords here to serve us?!” one of his men jeered. Bjorn could see the Argonian server trying his best to look calm. From the corner of his eye Mjoll was glaring at him with such intensity, as if about to confront him.

His men’s raucous laughter permeated the inn. “We heroes of this city would like a lovely wench to serve us!” another of his men slurred. “Oho, this lizard looks like the dragon we just slew! I wouldn’t want to suddenly cut him down!”

Mjoll stood up, drawing their attention. “I suggest you stop harassing the owners of this inn. They’ve done nothing to deserve this treatment of yours.” Her hand was already resting on the hilt of her sword, Grimsever.

Bjorn saw an opportunity arising. “Ah, we only want true Nords to serve us, nothing more.”

“Then leave. There are many inns with true Nords outside of Riften.”

“I won’t. Not until I get _my_ reward.”

He chuckled at her discomfort. Clearly this is only a game for her, and he’s on his way to winning. He took one step towards her and she drew her sword. “Never without my permission,” she declared.

“Do you really think you can win against me, a dragon-slayer?” Bjorn drew his war axe, the anticipation making his blood boil in his veins. It was an easy opportunity. Her companion would most likely stupidly throw himself towards him. He’d win, having superior equipment of steel, while she was only clad in iron armor and a glass sword with a fancy name. With the patrons of the inn as his witness, he’d prove himself the superior warrior.

Talen-Jei, one of the proprietors of the inn, stepped in between them. The Argonian was either very brave or very stupid to come in between him and his prey. “Milord, milady, there is no need to fight. If you really wish to fight then please leave this inn to do your business.”

His anger flared and he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. He growled dangerously. “Don’t stand in my way, lizard.”

He roughly shoved him away, causing Talen-Jei to nearly stumble and fall backwards. Bjorn also met the stare Aerin was giving him, and saw the boy’s hand already at the hilt of his own sword.

At the corner of his eye he spotted his men suddenly growing quiet, waiting. He chuckled. It seems that things would be very interesting soon, he thought. The other patrons seemed tense, with some of them moving to draw their own blades.

Suddenly, the doors of the inn flew open, sending a blast of cold wind into the warm inn. A hooded stranger entered without even minding the doors, his black cloak billowing behind him.

Bjorn witnessed his quarry relaxing, but still with her guard up.

The stranger looked around the room and then stared at them while tilting his head to the size quizzically, as if curious about the situation about to unfold. Whoever this man was, he was an oddity.

He was of a rather short stature, only coming up to Bjorn’s jaw. He seemed like an eccentric adventurer of sorts. His armor and weaponry struck him as very strange.

By design his armor looked like it was made for a ranger or a scout, having more protection around the torso, arms and feet, while the lack thereof in other areas offered mobility. It seemed to be made from thick, dark leather and very strong bone rather than steel or iron, lacking the usual noise made by armor and seemed to be very light.

Sharp spikes adorned the shin guards, pauldrons, and the armguards. Unlike many he’d seen these seemed to be an addition to the protection rather than for intimidation or theatricality. Three spikes each protruded from the knuckles of the gauntlets, giving the impression of claws. The pale milky color of bone contrasted with the dark padded leather of the armor. A tuft of feathers decorated the leathery hood.

Despite the crudeness of the materials used in the armor, it seemed like the work of a master blacksmith.

Beneath the hood was a dark colored mask that covered most of the stranger’s face up to his cheekbones. His eyes were covered by a dark gray pair of dwemer goggles.

Definitely an eccentric adventurer, Bjorn thought darkly.

Like many travelers the stranger carried a black fur backpack laden with equipment and supplies for his survival of the harsh wilderness.

A wicked-looking longbow was strapped to his backpack, similar in make and spiky design as his armor. The bow seemed very heavy, and was as tall as its bearer. A dagger with a sleek black ornate scabbard was strapped to his side. The dagger’s sheath bore a rather unique symbol, similar to the one seen in the random spell books he usually uses as kindling.

Despite his rather strange appearance, Bjorn sensed a different aura surrounding the stranger. He had the aura of a very vicious killer, one that he had sensed before and counted himself lucky to have survived the encounter.

But that couldn’t be, he thought, that man is dead. He brushed those thoughts aside, and not bothering to look, grabbed a bottle of ale behind him and chugged it down like one would to water.

The stranger marched towards him, and he instinctively pointed his axe towards his direction. Much to his bewilderment, the stranger snorted and swatted his axe aside as if doing so to a fly.

He eyed him from head to toe. “You look familiar,” said the stranger. He possessed a laid-back brogue of an Imperial from Cyrodiil. His voice seemed to belong to a youth barely out of his teens, but even-toned. He sounded like a naive young man.

“You don’t.” Blood still boiling in his veins, Bjorn was very ready for a fight. The stranger seemed to be an interesting combatant, eccentric armor and all. He’d love to have another trophy to show off.

The stranger seemed to not read the tense situation he was in. All the better, Bjorn thought. An unaware loon like him is likely to fall sooner or later in the wilds of Skyrim. At least he’d be lucky to be the one to deliver his demise.

“Alright then,” the stranger said with a shrug. A little banter wouldn’t hurt, much, Bjorn thought darkly. It was always too easy to provoke young, ambitious adventurers looking for new rivals.

Bjorn blocked his way. “You seem to be lost, boy.”

The stranger looked up at him. The sheer amount of covering on his face made him question whether or not he can still see. “This is the inn, isn’t it?”

“With that funny armor on, who do you think you are? You think you’re some kind of adventurer? Oh, I know your kind, strutting about. You’re nothing compared to us mercenaries. I bet I can cut you down before you can even draw your toy bow.” He subtly glanced at Mjoll, gauging her face for any reactions. She seemed to be interested in their interaction.

The stranger seemed to be beginning to be irritated. A bit more of banter and he can get his fight. “I’m a hunter. You’re not worth my time, drunken mercenary,” the stranger said, and Bjorn once more felt the vicious aura oozing off him, “move out of my way.” And he brushed past him, not even caring at all.

Bjorn took offense at the dismissive tone. “Not worth your time? A dragon slayer not worth anyone’s time? None of you could even stare down a dragon and not die of fear!” He bellowed, and displayed his trophy. He threw down his axe, the steel embedding deeply into the table.

The stranger seemed to be unfazed by him or his trinket, whilst the other patrons gawked at the dragon eye. “Interesting. Where’d you get this from?”

“You do know what this is, eh lad? This is a dragon’s eye. _Dragon_.” Bjorn made an emphasis on the word dragon. The more they spoke the cockier the stranger seemed. He’s nothing more than a wealthy lord’s overly-ambitious son looking for a cheap thrill and a trophy to impress lasses he could bed, Bjorn thought.

“I’m asking you where and you respond to what. Very well, what is it?”

The sheer audacity of this stranger was now grating on his nerves. Any of his attempts at intimidation so far were ineffective, or at least the stranger hid his reactions well. One can never really tell, given how covered he is. Nonetheless, Bjorn chose to press on and coax some sort of ire from him. “Haven’t you heard about the dragon nearby?”

The stranger’s tone became low, dangerous. “Now you’re being rude.” The stranger seemed to be akin to a hunter lecturing his prey the moment his tone shifted.

Bjorn felt a pang of fear, but he dismissed the feeling. “What? I don’t have to respect you...”

“Boss! It moved!” At his lackey’s terrified tone and panicky pointing at his trinket, Bjorn looked down and saw that it was in fact, moving. It was gazing around the room. The moment its gaze fell upon the stranger, its pupils dilated and narrowed, as if in recognition. Its odd position as a trinket had rendered it unable to look up or down.

The stranger, much to Bjorn’s horror, had begun poking the undead eye, and started laughing as the eye reacted to his poking. “Ah, that never gets old!” He chuckled. “Now the dead dragon is once again alive, knows where we are, and frankly, my rude friend,” the stranger said, reaching up and draping an arm around his shoulder while patting his arm, “if I woke up from a slumber I thought I would never wake from, I would be furious if someone took my eye as a fancy trophy.”

Their attention was then captured by a guard having entered the inn, panting and wild-eyed. The guard started ranting and raving about a dragon flying towards the town, having scouted the area where its corpse was. The stranger’s arm slipped from Bjorn’s shoulder as he faced the terrified guard.

Mjoll calmed the guard, and another one barged in. As the second guard entered, a roar reverberated throughout the inn, and everyone froze in silence. Almost everyone, that is.

The stranger on the other hand seemed to be treating this as a part of his routine. Without a word he had stripped off his cloak, draping it over the chair he had placed his pack on. Hidden beneath the cloak was a quiver full of arrows. The quiver seemed to be made from the same leathery material as his armor, and the arrows within seemed to be made from bone. A small silver etching on the top of the quiver drew Bjorn’s attention: a serpent coiled around the sheathed ornate dagger strapped to his side.

Bjorn paused. He’d seen that insignia before, but he can’t remember when.

“I’m getting out of here!” was amongst the cries of the patrons as they attempted to force their way out, banging their hands against their protectors’ armors and trying to wriggle through.

“We cannot let you leave; the dragon is still out there!” Mjoll shouted.

Bjorn looked at his group. They were waiting for his orders. They’ve taken down a dragon before; they knew what to do. Given their slightly bleary-eyed looks, he may have to try and order them around again.

The stranger began adjusting bits and pieces of his armor, then unstrapped and drew his longbow. Bjorn also began readying himself, grabbing his axe and shield, and put on his cloak. Despite the heat of the dragon’s flames, the late night air in Riften is still very cold, almost biting. It would be even worse if the dragon breathed frost. He’d need his cloak.

He froze when he noticed the stranger eyeing him curiously. “What’s wrong, boy, never seen a true Nord warrior before?” Bjorn asked.

“Why would a true Nord warrior need a cloak? Aren’t you all children of the frost? A cloak can only get you killed.

Another loud roar silenced the inn, and the stranger left.

How could this man be calm at something like this? How did the dragon survive? Bjorn gritted his teeth and motioned for his men to move. “If we can bring that dragon once, we can do it again,” he reasoned. The men began to move, grabbing their weapons and shields.

They emerged from the tavern. Much to the defenders’ fortune, most folk that they have to defend from the dragon were already inside their homes, and the guards had little trouble making the rest go inside. They’d have more trouble if they sent the people outside the walls, not only because of the dragon but also the other dangers outside.

Several of the guards were mages, and readied their frost spells to extinguish any fires the dragon’s attack may cause. They’ve also conjured several companions in combat.

Bjorn wondered what the dragon would look like, aside from missing an eye. Would it have healed all the wounds they’ve dealt? Nonetheless, his group can kill it again. This time he’d have its head.

“Soren, Alen,” he ordered his archers, “find suitable cover and always be prepared to move, I want that dragon without its wings, you might as well run around shooting at it, ” then he ordered his warriors, “Haris, Rolf, the minute it stops flying, we tear it apart, understood?”

“You got it boss!” Soren beamed, and left with Alen. Bjorn chuckled. Soren was their wisecracking scout, a former bounty hunter. Alen was their youngest and newest member, having joined merely weeks ago, a former bandit. Both were skilled archers, but Alen was also skilled with a sword and shield. He, Haris and Rolf were all sellswords working independently but following a string of indiscretions they were forced to group up, eventually finding rapport.

Weapons at the ready, they were all ready for the dragon. Another loud roar pierced through the still night air, and thick fog began to form around the town.

“Would dragons ever fight without using their fancy magic?” Rolf sighed, flexing his shoulders, swinging his greatsword in anticipation.

“Too afraid of us to get close, friend,” Haris quipped. The usual taciturn warhammer-wielding mercenary was excitable, as he had a grin plastered on his face.

Soon bards would sing of them as dragon slayers of legend, rivaling the songs of the Dragonborn. The stranger was looking at the fog, as if in wonder.

“Witness, boy,” Bjorn’s voice boomed, grabbing the stranger’s attention, “how true Nords kill dragons.”

“Again with being true Nords...” the stranger said.

Rolf snorted. “You hunters look for easy prey. We hunt dragons.” he said.

What the stranger said next brought chills down their spines. “I’ve never hunted true Nords before... Might as well try after this.”

“Insolent little...” Rolf moved to attack the stranger, but is stopped by Haris.

“Later,” Bjorn said, “we’d make an example of him.”

“Look!” a guard shouted. He was pointing at a massive dark figure drifting in and out of sight within the fog. With a cry, they started shooting at the dark figure, letting loose several volleys of crossbow bolts, arrows, and spells. The figure disappeared and they froze. That was not the dragon.

Once again the massive figure appeared in the fog, and it seemed bigger, closer to them. A roar came from it, and once again they fired at it. The ammunition and spells fired pierced through the fog, seemingly hitting it.

It then disappeared within the fog once more.

The dragon was not like it was before, reckless and almost suicidal in its intent to kill Bjorn and his mercenaries. This time it seemed to wish to play with them, like a cat playing with a captive mouse.

With blinding speed the dragon appeared right behind them, the fog parting with a flap of its powerful wings. “FUS RO DAH!” With a shout resembling a wave parting the air, it snatched up two guards. Those hit with the shout were sent flying backwards, some falling into the canals below, and some misfortunate ones hitting the walls of the buildings with sickening crunches. It once again disappeared within the fog, and the terrified howling of its snatched victims was silenced.

Once again its figure appeared within the thick fog but this time no one dared make a move, instead facing the other direction, wary of its previous deception.

That was, until a lone man did. A lone arrow soared into the fog, disappearing into the figure. A loud pained bellow was the reply, and the dragon appeared once more. It circled around the town within the fog it had created and seemed to be looking for a place to land. It unleashed a breath of fire, setting three of the guards on fire.

Chaos erupted amongst the defenders. Many rushed to the burning guards’ aid, while the others fled in panic. What little formation they had was gone and it took Mjoll’s rallying cry and the presence of the Jarl’s son Harald to the remaining defenders to stay.

Bjorn and his men, on the other hand, ignored the general chaos. Soren and Alen kept firing arrows at the dragon’s wings. Many of their arrows had missed, unlike before. Whether it was caused by the ale in their blood or the dragon’s speed, Bjorn would not know, nor does he care.

Soren and Alen had succeeded. It landed at the center of the marketplace, right in front of him. It truly was the very same dragon they just killed. Many of its wounds were now scars, even the killing blow he himself had dealt. Upon seeing him the dragon lunged, and Bjorn jumped out of the way of its jaws. He charged towards it, sinking his axe into its right wing.

“True Nords never back down!” he bellowed, pulling out his axe from it and started hacking away at any of its flesh he can reach. Haris and Rolf followed, and soon several defenders have charged the dragon.

Despite the loss in their numbers, there were a lot of them against a single dragon. It set ablaze some of the houses and buildings around them, forcing most of the mages to stop and focus their spells on controlling the fires, and some more of the guards started to carry buckets of water from the canals.

Bjorn found himself trying to find weak points in the dragon’s hide while avoiding the arrows and spells aimed at it. Some of the melee combatants were dying from the friendly fire of panicked archers and mages.

“No!” Haris’ cry drew Bjorn’s attention. Rolf was in the midst of meeting his untimely end. A stray arrow had pinned his cloak to a stall. As he forcibly pried away from his cloak, the dragon’s tail was already bearing down upon him. His body disappeared beneath the massive tail. Once the tail was lifted as it took to the skies, Rolf was nothing more than a bloody mangled mess.

Despite the number of wounds it had received the dragon flew on, setting more and more of the town ablaze. The situation was becoming more hopeless the longer the battle wore on. Calling Soren and Alen, he gave them a new order: claim as much loot as they can before their group can flee. He’d have to buy them some time.

“Dragon!” he bellowed, pulling out his trinket, “Looking for this?!”

The dragon’s attention and attacks were fully on Bjorn, trying to reclaim its missing eye. As it was about to open its maw for another attack, an arrow embedded itself in the middle of its upper jaw, making it rear its head back and its breath attack released upwards. He found himself near Honorhall Orphanage after avoiding the dragon’s attacks on him.

Haris called out to him. It was time to go. He had to leave while the dragon is distracted.

After recovering a little from the attack, the dragon looked behind, towards the stranger. It glared at its attacker. It muttered something in an unknown tongue with a dark, booming voice.

A lone guard lay injured before it, and as if with a sadistic grin, it chomped down on the guard with a sickening crunch. It then violently flung its victim towards the stranger.

Seeing that the orphanage’s door was slightly ajar, with a boy watching the fight unfold, he leapt up and grabbed him, putting him in front of the dragon. After forcefully wrapping his trinket around his neck he punched the boy in the stomach, leaving him writhing in agony at the mercy of it.

He ran away, cowering behind cover. It wasn’t like anyone would notice an orphan go missing in Riften, not with this chaos.

The dragon paused upon seeing the child, and looked back again. Bjorn could’ve sworn that it was grinning as it addressed the stranger. “Dovahkiin!” It hissed, and with a loud roar flew up, readying another breath attack, grabbing another hapless victim with its claws.

It seemed that the dragon targeted not only him but also the stranger. Good, he thought, another distraction for the dragon. Eventually the sheer amount of attacks would kill it; all they have to do is to distract it.

The stranger leapt from where he was perched and started sprinting towards the child. Another guard was racing him for the child and managed to get to him first. He was furiously motioning for the guard to go back to where he ran from with the child and the guard did as he was told, narrowly avoiding the burst of flames the dragon spouted to where he was.

But the dragon was not done, with a flick of its tail it sent debris forth to collide with the fleeing pair. The stranger quickly nocked an arrow and loosed it upon the guard’s cape. The cape snagged on the arrow and the guard fell backward, narrowly avoiding the flying debris.

Another guard was swinging helplessly, while its captor was attacking and flying around Riften. The stranger once again loosed an arrow, timing it to when the dragon was flying near Mistveil Keep. The arrow stuck into the dragon’s leg, forcing it to drop its would-be victim into the water below.

Calmly the stranger walked towards the center of the marketplace where the dragon had landed, then waited for it to notice him. It landed in front of him, and menacingly stomped towards him. The stranger held up its eye and it paused.

With a flick of his wrist the stranger flung the eye towards it. He then quickly nocked an arrow and aimed for the eye in midflight. As it was right in front of its non-missing eye, the stranger unleashed the arrow. The arrow pierced through the eye and into the other, fully blinding the dragon.

It roared in pain and blindly lunged at the stranger with its maw but he only quickly sidestepped to fire several arrows in quick succession into the dragon’s mouth and its head. With finality, it prepared to unleash one of its Shouts, but only let loose a dying croak as it fell upon his feet, dead.

Panting, the stranger removed his hood and his goggles, revealing eerie amber glowing eyes reminding him of a sabrecat’s and a pair of odd-looking ears that seemed to be slightly pointed, something only half-mer breeds have. As he pulled down his mask, revealing his sweat-covered face, Bjorn froze in recognition.

Eerie eyes, Daedric dagger, odd-shaped ears, insignia of a snake coiled around a dagger... He looked like a Nord youth barely out of his teens, wide eyed, pale, yet angular-faced, betraying a Mer ancestry. But he lacked the innocence youths emanated.

The man who had saved his life was an infamous legend. Many familiar with his reputation would know him as the Wandering Viper. He was a dangerous man, a man with a sizeable bounty on his head in Cyrodiil. Given how close he was to the border to Cyrodiil, all he had to do was capture the man. He grinned excitedly.

Several arrows jutted from the stranger’s armor, and he looked the worse for wear. Burn marks marred bits of his armor, and he was amongst the ones who bore the brunt of the dragon’s first Shout.

Suddenly a cracking sound came from the dragon, and everyone once again froze and drew their weapons, ready for its next attack. Its hide seemed to be melting and its body was slowly covered in gold colored fire. Wisps of gold came from it to engulf the stranger, and they were both covered in golden light.

When the light faded, the dragon was no more than pearly-white bones and bits and pieces of scale. “Dragonborn!” one of the guards yelled, and many of them cheered. The stranger grinned tiredly and leaned on one of the stalls for support.

Bjorn and his men shared knowing looks. The guards seemed to be uninterested in the stranger. Did they not know who he was?

“Hey, you!” A guard was menacingly marching towards Bjorn, sword at the ready. It was the guard that rescued the boy he used as a diversion. Motioning to Soren and Alen, they moved to leave. Haris, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found.

“By order of the Jarl, stop right there!” Bjorn heard a shout from behind one of the buildings, and out came Haris, hands held up in surrender. Soon, the guards had them surrounded, and forced them to hand over their stolen loot.

One of the guards pointed her sword towards his chest. “You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. What say you in your defense?”

“You caught us... I’ll pay off our bounty.” Bjorn declared.

“Smart man. We’ll be taking all your stolen goods, and then you’re free to go.”

* * *

 

It took a fair amount of bribing and using what connections they had to be able to leave the city, albeit at a cost.

As his group left the gates, he glanced back. Many of the guards remaining were there, and their bows were at the ready. It seemed that we would not be welcomed in Riften anymore, he thought. They would have to return to Cyrodiil instead. The four of them walked side by side.

“Well, that went well, boss,” Soren mused, “we lost most of our loot, but at least we’re still alive, right? Cyrodiil’s—ahk!”

Soren fell on his knees, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. Blood flowed from his mouth. An arrow jutted out from his head, having pierced through his leather helmet. Hacking and gasping, he reached out for a horrified Alen, only for another arrow to pierce through his throat. His eyes rolled up to his head and his arms fell limply to his sides as his body twitched in shock.

Eyes wild, they sought out the assailant, but there was no one in sight. No one close enough, that is. Shields raised, they slowly edged into the forest. Suddenly an arrow struck Alen’s shield, causing him to stagger backwards from the impact. It had managed to find a weak spot in his shield, and his shield fell apart when he pulled it out. It had managed to lodge itself a little into his arm.

Upon close inspection, the arrow was a heavier than any arrow they’ve seen and used. It seemed to be made from bone. Bjorn felt his stomach drop at realizing who this arrow may belong to.

“The Viper... That bastard!” Alen growled. An arrow zipped past, lodging itself into a tree. The remaining three mercenaries fled the area. Not long into their escape into the woods, Alen started stumbling, ranting about his limbs going numb. Eventually it became garbled murmurs as he stopped to lean upon a tree, going deathly still. His eyes however were looking around wildly, and he still moaned. Before they could help him, however, an axe thrown at almost blinding speed met his forehead, nearly cleaving it in two.

Driven by madness, Haris had stopped while Bjorn ran. “Come out and fight me, Viper!” was the last he heard of him before he disappeared into the woods where the axe had come from.

Bjorn fled deeper into the woods, realizing how deep he was in the Viper’s territory. Rumors of the master poisoner and ranger in Riften were true. Knowing that he has fled far enough, and no guards were following him, Bjorn stopped to rest on a tree trunk to catch his breath. Running with armor had its severe drawbacks.

He leapt to his feet upon hearing crunching of leaves and branches growing closer, and started to flee again, using his shield to batter away the shrubbery. Suddenly he was pulled back and he fell on his back. An arrow had pinned his cloak to the tree. More than half of the arrow was embedded in the tree, as if fired by a very powerful bow.

He ripped off his cloak and ran again, adrenaline pushing his body towards its survival. Faint whistles of arrows grew louder where he was. Another whistle of an arrow, and he found himself on the ground, dazed. The arrow had struck the side of his helmet, causing it to roll into the bushes and knocking him off-balance.

Unwilling to give up, he stood up and ran, colliding with several branches in the way but still he pushed on, until an arrow had found its mark on his shield, denting it and ridding him of a very valuable defense.

Panicking he drew his axe and started screaming, hacking his way through the woods. A blinding pain in his foot forced him to stop and he screamed in pain. The arrow had gone through the tendon and into the tree right next to him, and any of his attempts to pull off the arrow failed. He tried to forcefully rip his foot away from the arrow, even at the cost of tearing it out, but another arrow had embedded itself on his wrist holding his axe.

Blinding, searing pain greatly wore on his sanity, along with the knowledge that he knew his life was over. He felt numbness slowly coming from where he was struck with arrows. A third arrow flew from the woods into his torso, where his kidney was. He bellowed out indecipherable curses from his mouth, his face dripping with saliva and mucus. Tears flowed from his eyes.

In the moonlight the grove he found himself in was bathed in bluish light. A shadowy figure appeared between the trees, and once it stepped into the light it had the appearance of a wraith, wearing wicked armor, with arrows jutting out of its torso. It pulled the arrows out like they were nothing.

It seemed to be carrying something that was dripping on its right. It flung it towards him. Wet, sticky drops of whatever were from the object landed on him, and he smelled blood. The object landed on the forest floor with a heavy thud, rolling for a bit before resting in front of him. Bjorn whimpered. It was Haris’ head, covered with cuts, with one having sliced through his cheek. Three bloody holes were on the left side of his head, stabbing through his eye.

The Viper’s amber eyes glowing eerily in the dampened darkness of the grove. He moved to sit cross-legged in front of him. “So that’s why you’re familiar, we have met before!” His jovial tone unnerved him even more. “I remember sharing a prison with you once.”

“You monster!” Foaming at the mouth, he lunged at him, but to no avail. He felt his movement deepening the damage the arrows have done to his body.

The Viper looked up to the night sky. “Beautiful night, eh? Not exactly the best night for hunting, of course, light just makes the prey more aware. But it’s perfect for prey such as you.” He then frowned.

“For a true Nord you were a _disappointing_ hunt. I told you your cloak would be your undoing. Had you been running without it then at least you would have made it to a nearby cave. Besides, this is a meeting between _us_ monsters after all.”

The bastard knew the area, Bjorn thought. Most of his body had gone numb, and he could move no longer. At least he was not some victim of the Dark Brotherhood, he thought darkly. He knew he was bound for a contract, thanks to the indiscretions that brought him and his group together.

“Quite a sight you are, covered in blood that is not only your own, _writhing_ like a little worm.” Despite the calm tone of his would-be killer, fury bled through it. “Much like that poor girl you left broken not far from her home two days ago. Perhaps you’d remember her.”

Bjorn had no memory of who she was. For him it was just another ordinary day. The Viper tilted his head to the side, as if out of curiosity from his lack of a response, then shrugged.

“W-why are you telling me this?” The poison may have done its work but it left him free to speak, even if it was a little slurred.

“Why not? She gave me all the more reason for you to suffer.” And suffer he did.

The Viper stood up abruptly, brushing himself off. “It was a nice little chat, and I hoped my time with you was longer but my client has no patience. Farewell, then, mercenary. So ends a contract, bound in blood. Hail Sithis.” His fate was sealed. The Dark Brotherhood came.

There was a sharp crackle of electricity, blinding light, and then darkness. And he was no more.


End file.
